


Drama Date

by orphan_account



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, dinner date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through mysterious circumstances Fulcrum discovers himself in the company of Overlord in the middle of what would appear to be a 'fine dining' experience, fighting to tolerate the Phase-Sixer's strange fetish for exaggerated facial features.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drama Date

**Author's Note:**

> This was an anonymous request! Which is a shame because it's a really great idea and I'd like to thank the person for submitting it and apologise for taking so long to put something together! It's been a very busy few months for me, between work and traveling I haven't had much time to sit and write. I hope this was what you were looking for. It wasn't easy, I liked the idea very much but putting it into a suitable scenario proved to the hardest part. 
> 
> It had been my intention to write something much shorter, more snappy and entertaining but as usual the outcome was the complete opposite. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

An aroma filled the air and Fulcrum’s head. Something spicy and full of zest - an unusual thing to wake up to but it was even more unusual for him to come online sitting upright. 

His helm swung heavily, dipped forward and mouth open. It seemed he’d been stuck like this for a while, his neck ached and oral fluid was dried round his mouth a chin which was unpleasant. Fulcrum smacked his lips together trying to shift away the stiffness and feeling very groggy. He wondered what he’d done to make his processor turn against him and shun his requests to access memory files of the night before. Life aboard the W.A.P was turning into one glorious misadventure after another. 

It wasn’t until his optics twisted into focus and discovered the restraints buckled round his wrists that Fulcrum realised that this maybe slightly worse than a typical all-night bender. 

Well shit.

Wondering [hoping] this was a part of some sad sods practical joke ( _Probably Misfire)_ Fulcrum jostled about a little. The restraints were not unbreakable steel or inflicting a full-body immobilisation, they gave Fulcrum moderate use of his hands but creaked when he pulled too hard, possibly breakable, making their purpose appear to be less of a restraint and more of a deterrent. 

“Awake at last.” The voice Fulcrum didn’t recognise. Helm jerking up in surprise to greet something devilish. There was a table separating them but the mech’s daunting size swallowed the distance. Fulcrum sat straight, squashing his back against his seat, as far as possible from the leery face opposite. Between the colour scheme and plush features, Overlord was easily recognised, but when and _how_ Fulcrum had been coerced into the Phase-Sixer’s company was a mystery. A very uncomfortable mystery that nibbled at his mind much like the growing apprehension tugging on his guts. Fulcrum swallowed hard. 

“Umm, hello.” In the restraints Fulcrums hands curled, a hot clamminess collecting in his joints. 

“I thought you were never going to back online.” Overlord’s thick lips parted like the smile of the cherisher cat, pleasant but manic. The mood lighting carefully set up in the room cast long, black shadows across the sharp lines of his face. Fulcrum baulked. 

“Ah-ha,” A tightness gathered in his throat, “Well that’s, umm, uhh … I don’t remember falling asleep! W-Where are we?” 

“What? Don’t you remember?” Fulcrum wished he’d been more careful with his words, cringing when Overlord lifted his hand. The snap of his fingers like the crack of a whip, Fulcrum flinched though the sound caused him no pain. Overlord beckoned somewhere into the darkness surrounding them. “We were having dinner.” Soft clinks of rusty chains knocking together sounded dimly on the far side of the room, approaching the table. Suddenly the setting became more clear. The restraints showed Fulcrum he didn’t have a choice, they were breakable because Overlord was confident Fulcrum wouldn’t dare run, “ I hope you’re hungry.” 

Another smile was thrown at Fulcrum, a charming flash of denta that looked more like fangs. 

Unfortunately it was anxiety instead of appetite that stirred Fulcrum’s tanks. Overlord looking into the distance just past Fulcrum’s shoulders to where the restless sounds of shackles approached slowly. 

“Come on waiter.” Overlord beckoned. The charm in his expression replaced by something predatory. Fulcrum twisted as much as he could, in the peripheries of his sight a blur of faded colour lumbered into view. Walking very slowly due to a limp, their table attendant dragged his frame to their sides, lurching ungainly to a stop. 

Silence. 

The enormous mech stooped forward, too haggard to stand as stiff as Overlord would’ve liked. The Autobot emblem printed on his chest peeped over the white frill stitched to the hem of an outsized apron made of many, many black sheets. The fabric was laced round the Autobot waist, disguising some of his scratched paint and smothering any pride he had left. Nonetheless Fulcrum was still quaking. 

“Now, Maxie… just like we practiced remember.” 

The Fortress Maximus’s lips rolled, engines rumbling while optics flashed to the ceiling in search of some special strength to help him omit his dignity for the sake of surviving. 

Squashed under his hefty arms were two black folders. The shackles round his wrists were more substantial than Fulcrum’s binding; they emitted electrical pulses through Fortress Maximus’s arms, making him sluggish. But Fortress Maximus retained some of his energy. After politely placing one black folder in front of Fulcrum he sloppily chucked the other in Overlord’s face.

Its clatter onto the table made Fulcrum twitch. 

Overlord EM fields rose round him like an inferno but he didn’t react, only for an exvent. Just enough to be forbidding. Fortress Maximus tried to straighten. 

Fulcrum saw Overlord take the folder in hand and open it. Fulcrum, by his own nature, copied. 

When opened the faint smell of cheap glue buzzed out, stuck inside was a menu, carefully written and decorated in black crayon on white paper. Fulcrum tried reading some of it but was finding it hard to concentrate. As if the two monster mechs crowding him weren’t enough to confound him, his attention was pulling to the middle of the table - the source of the ambient light - a head, real or faux Fulcrum didn’t want to know, through all it’s hollow cavities: optics, nose and mouth, amber flames glowed. A group of stubby candles had been arranged inside, apparently they were the source of the overpowering scent Fulcrum had woken to. 

“It all looks so _appetising._ ” Overlord commented. Having failed to examine the menu Fulcrum baulked, rapidly assimilating the thick black scrawl. 

“Uhh…What would you recommend?” His own mind doubted his sanity. All his common sense was being sucked into the hollow black sockets of the ghoulish skull staring back at him. 

“Waiter?” Overlord prompted. Fortress Maximus’s heavy petulance fell on Fulcrum. The smaller mech dared not glance up. His fingers clutched at the menu.

“None of it. It all tastes like slag… and I spat in the soup.” 

Suddenly the room was buzzing with blue light and static discharge interfered with Fulcrum’s primary sensors. His spark sprang, jolting him in his seat as Fortress Maximus was forced to the floor by a shock stick twisting into his side. Fulcrum’s expression was lit up by a strobe effect, bolts of discharge crackled round the mechs body, paralysing him until Overlord finally unscrewed the shock stick from Fort Max’s body. 

“That was rude. Wasn’t it Maximus?” 

Heat vapour and steam lifted out of Maximus’s vents. He breathed harshly, circuits crackling with discharge. 

Overlord’s lips pursed and blew sharply over the end of the shock stick, dispersing the plumes of cloudy smoke. The tang of burning relays mixing with aromatic candle stench. 

Fortress Maximus slapped a hand on the table top, the whole surface buckled as he heaved himself up. 

“Now,” Overlord leaned back, the shock stick rolling between his fingers, “Try again.” 

Fortress Maximus’s face was sour, but fear of Overlord beat into submission his mulish defiance. 

“Quickly, we’re waiting.”

 With his optics optics dimmed and unseeing, Fortress Maximus muttered the choices in a hurry - not giving much more description about the dishes other than their named. 

Nevertheless, with the added information, Fulcrum was able to make more sense of the menu. 

Out of the front pocket stitched to the apron Fortress Maximus dug out a data pad and detached the stylus. Hands trembling.

“What starter do you want?”

“Maaaax.” Overlord sang, hand abruptly stopped the shock stick mid twirl and gripping it tight prompting and involuntary shudder from their waiter. 

“What would you like to order…” Despite his sullenness the cloying service continued, “ _Sir.”_  

It took a few attempts, Fulcrum’s gaping eventually translating into an intelligible sentence. 

“Oh…the, um stuffed lugnuts,please?” 

Grunting, Fortress Maximus made a note of it. 

“Very good choice.” There was a subtle lilt of mischief in his voice that made Fulcrum wonder, if Fortress Maximus had been daring enough to spit in the soup who knows what extra ‘ingredients’ he’d added to the other recipes. 

Grudgingly, their ‘waiter’ turned his attention to Overlord.     

“I’ll have the same.” Overlord bypassed Fortress Maximus and smiled at Fulcrum. One large hand reaching far across Fulcrum’s side of the table. 

Fortress Maximus scribbled down something else, 

“It’ll be with you shortly.” As he turned to leave Overlord got more comfortable. With feline suppleness, Overlord’s body bowed and stretched forward. 

“You just can’t seem to find the staff these days.” He commented while Max was still in ear shot. The Autobot paused, then stepped on, engulfed by the darkness. 

A nervous laugh bubbled inside Fulcrum, he had no reply but Overlord was happy to be humoured. Fulcrum kept forgetting about the restraints attached to his wrists, each time they reminded him he was tied to a chair Fulcrum felt a wave of fear rise. 

“Are you alright?” The question startled the K-Class ‘con, so did the genuine existence of feeling in Overlord’s expression. The monster was rumoured to be bloodless and cold after all, “Is everything to your liking?” 

The skulls, the restraints, the mention of his meal being contaminated by Autobot saliva - of course none of this was to Fulcrum’s liking, but he still squeaked an affirmative. 

“Yes,” 

“Good.” Overlord revelled and purred, “I knew when I saw you that you were a mech of,” He leaned into Fulcrum’s view, overpowering him, “Exquisite taste.” Overlord waited like he expected his words to make Fulcrum swoon. The effect wasn't entirely dissimilar, the compliment did make Fulcrum’s processor spin as he struggled for composure. His cheek plates steadily growing hotter under Overlord’s lechery. 

“Oh, well I…” Fulcrum tried looking away but it didn’t help. Slowly he was losing his grasp on hope. If this wasn't all one bizarre nightmare where were Misfire and the others and why hadn’t anyone shown up to rescue him yet? Rolling with the situation only worked for so long, especially if Fulcrum wouldn’t be waking from this bad dream any time soon.

“You must receive a lot of compliments. There’s something about strong features that I find… irresistible.” The last of the sentence spoken in silken tones made for impact. Overlord was determined to hold Fulcrum’s gaze as, between his feet, Fulcrum felt something shift. 

His instinct was to squeeze around it, trapping it before it could move any higher. But Overlord persisted and soon after there was the shape of a foot dragging up his inner leg so slowly, prying his knees apart. 

More heat rushed to Fulcrum’s face. Something between self-consciousness and embarrassment Overlord interoperated as an adorable shyness toward being praised.  

Preening his ego, Overlord continued smoothly caressing inside Fulcrum’s leg, chuckling deeply. 

“I’d like to get to know you a little better.” 

Or else he’ll end up as the next head decorating Overlord’s dinner table. Fulcrum fretted, and dreaded what was in store for him although Overlord was making his intensions quite clear, removing the anxiety of suspense. Soon, the warmth in Fulcrum’s face spread down his neck, and he sweated in his seat. 

The sound of chains and the slow drag of feet heralded Fortress Maximus’s return. The Autobot’s malcontent obvious, nonetheless he obeyed and acted out his role of servitude to Overlord’s satisfaction.

A napkin was laid across Fulcrum’s lap and the silverware Fortress Maximus boggled over for a painful moment before deciding any order was good enough as long as they got to eat. As he lumbered a few short steps toward Overlord, Fulcrum watched the Phase-Sixer secure the shock stick in one hand just to remind Fortress Maximus of his place. Although Fortress Maximus had grown sadly accustomed to being threatened the outcome remained a very painful deterrent. He served up the food quietly then stepped back. 

“Will that be all?” Simpering courtesy was unbefitting of a mech famed for rolling round a battlefield but Fortress Maximus suited the role well enough. He uncovered the plates in front of the two mechs he waited on, releasing a meal presented with some care. At least the smell was appetising. Surprisingly, it had Fulcrum licking at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes, for now.” Overlord dismissed his pet, “Dig in.” 

Would if he could…Fulcrum’s arms could not reach his mouth. Rather than watch him try and make a fool of himself Overlord spared Fulcrum the embarrassment, clucking babyishly. 

“Ooo, let me help you.” 

His midsection was pressed to the edge of the table, as close as he could get. Taking up Fulcrum’s cutlery, Overlord piled up a mouthful onto the utensil and held it close enough for Fulcrum to taste. 

“Go on.” 

It was against his pride but instinct won out. Fulcrum lent forward and accepted the forkful of steamy lugnut falling into his mouth. Overlord kept his hand steady, letting Fulcrum savour the taste before sliding the fork free. 

“Chew.” 

The weight of the food settled in the middle of Fulcrum’s palette. His glossa wiggled slowly - rolling the food round his denta cautiously before taking a bite. Flavour burst across his taste buds. It was strong, not delicious but enough to convince him chewing wouldn’t be the end of him. 

“Mmmmm.” He exaggerated, munching heartily for Overlord’s pleasure. The Phase-Sixer fixated on the lower half of Fulcrum’s features. Watching the working of his jaw, hearing the gears pop and lock with every bite. 

“How about another?” Overlord was already heaping another forkful of stuffing, he’d watched the tell-tail lump of chewed fuel pass down Fulcrum’s oesophagus and knew his guest would be ready for another mouthful.

If he had a choice (which he didn’t) Fulcrum might have objected to being spoon fed. But he continued obeying, the presence of the shock stick reminding him of what awaited should he dare resist. Fulcrum opened his mouth every time Overlord required. His jaw stretching a little more each time as the food was steadily being drawn further inward so that Fulcrum was being teased across the table. 

On the last scoop, Overlord pulled the fork back a fraction, just as Fulcrum closed his lips round it. Having grown so oddly accustomed to their rhythm, a puzzled expression creased his face as he continued supping his meal off the utensil. Chuckling softly Overlord pulled the fork away, leaving behind a fair amount of sticky substance spread across Fulcrum’s lips and chin. 

“Dear me.” He muttered, dialling up his charm explicitly.

Fulcrum’s cheeks were puffy and still full of food, lips pursed together and feeling greasy, he watched Overlord’s hands lightly put the fork to rest before taking up his own serviette from his lap and patting it over Fulcrum’s spoiled face, paying particular attention to his trembling chin. 

The cloth was curled round Overlord’s fingers, he deftly mopped away the excess of lugnut and when he was finished tweaked Fulcrum’s chin but also lingered a little longer. 

“Lovely.” Overlord's purring accompanied a deep, meaningful stare.

It seemed only then Fulcrum realised how far he’d been tempted across the table and jerked back, the food catching in his throat when he swallowed abruptly, he felt it’s slide like a hard ball cutting into his tubes. Overlord didn’t like to see him splutter. 

“Oh,” He tutted and readjusted himself, reminding Fulcrum of his foot trespassing between two knobbly knees, “Careful now, I wouldn’t want you to over do it so soon and see you sprain a muscle in that chin of yours. I’d hate to see the evening go to waste, and miss out on all the wonderful things you _two_ are capable of.”

Never before had Fulcrum felt so self-conscious. Through heat was blooming in his faceplate dread chilled the fuel in his veins. The next wave of pathetic coughs Fulcrum gulped away, fighting to swallow the itchiness and tension left behind  but finding it made him want to choke even more. Bottling all his needs inside put a pressure on his systems, his optics burned and squinted, blurring the vision of Overlord sat opposite, finally picking into his own portion of lugnuts.

If this was just the starter Fulcrum dreaded what was in store for the main course. 

**Author's Note:**

> Requests are closed at this time [07/14]


End file.
